


Where Praise Isn't Due

by Lera_Myers



Series: Caged Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, Graphic Description, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:50:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lera_Myers/pseuds/Lera_Myers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Meredith used Bethany as Hawke's whipping boy, and one time Hawke was able to stop her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the Dragon Age Kink Meme. That said, this is _not_ physical/sexual abuse as a kink, but as something traumatic and life-changing. Constructive criticism would be welcome.
> 
>  **Please heed the tags and prompt as warnings.** Original prompt was as follows:
> 
> So a pro-templar Hawke is happy when her sister is taken to the Gallows, after all that is where mages belong and she trusts Meredith and Cullen to protect her sister from the few bad templars that are there. And that is how it goes at first. Bethany has the best experience in the Circle until Hawke does something Meredith doesn't like, i.e. Saving a mage(s) from being slaughter by the templars. 
> 
> Meredith can't punish Hawke directly for this slight so instead decides to punish Bethany by removing her protection from Bethany for a few hours which means she is fair game for all the templars. She quickly finds the templars who were so kind and courteous to her just hours before are not so kind or courteous. In just a few hours she gets beaten, molested and treated the same way every other mages gets treated.
> 
> So everytime Hawke does something Meredith doesn't like she removes her protection from Bethany for different periods of time ranging from a few hours to a full day.
> 
> During the longer periods of times she is raped several times by several different templars.
> 
> Bonus:  
> -Bethany is whipped bloody once for trying to write a letter to Hawke telling her brother/sister what is happening to her in the Circle.  
> -Hawke sides with the mages in the end, perhaps to save his/her sister or maybe they began to change their sympathies over time or s/he finally realized that Meredith was completely insane.  
> \--This is when Hawke finds out everything that happened to Bethany  
> -Anders lives and helps Bethany work through the abuse she suffered and helps her to start healing.
> 
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15195.html?thread=60952411

Bethany isn’t a virgin the first time it happens. In some ways, she wishes she was, so there wouldn’t be anything to compare it to. She could convince herself, maybe, it wasn’t so bad, if not for the night before she came to the Circle.

( _“Did you mean what you said, about women being good for…?”_ she asked then, or started to ask, unable to finish for the breathy embarrassed giggles that left her, and Isabela nodded.

 _“Oh, of course, sweetness. Does this mean - I could show you one or two, if you’d like it, hm?”_ she’d asked, that devilish glint in her eyes, and then Bethany nodded and by the end of the night she’d lost her virginity in a bed at the Hanged Man, and it was wonderful, but no, that, this isn’t now, and it’s worse somehow because it was wonderful and this isn’t.)

The first time it happens, she’s sleeping. More heavily than a Gallows mage should, because everyone has always been good to her - after all, they hold her up as an example. An apostate who saw reason and turned herself in, never falters in obedience, looks after the apprentices, seems not to yearn for a life outside the Circle as many of them do. It has protected her.

 _Unfortunately,_ Bethany will think weeksmonthsyears later, but she doesn’t know now because she can’t know any better.

It makes her sleep peacefully. It makes her sleep through the sound of a door unlocking and then footsteps. It makes it so she only begins to stir when someone’s weight hits the mattress with a thump, and then there’s a hand on her shoulder.

“Awaken, mage.”

“Knight-Commander?” she murmurs, when she’s able to pry herself out of the depths of the Fade.

“Your sister saved one of your _kind_ today. Do you remember him, the one who heard demons at every corner? The one you called Feynriel?”

Sleepy. So sleepy. It’s the middle of the night. Why wake her up to share this?

“Your sister thought it would be nice to let him run off to Tevinter. Do you know what happens to mages who help others escape?”

She seems to want an answer, Bethany thinks, so she gives one. “They’re brought back, ser.”

“Yes, and kept company. It’s a shame your sister isn’t a mage. She’d like company, I’m sure.”

And then she’s too close, all at once, and Bethany’s suddenly very much awake and frozen against the bedsheets.

“There’s someone else here who could use that much, isn’t there? I thought you deserved to know.”

Oh, Maker. Oh, Maker, what is she doing? She can’t - no - A word tries to get past her lips and she chokes on it, the hard syllable.

“Please,” she manages, all but inaudible. “Don’t.”

“You will understand, mage. Your sister may not be able to know reason, but that does not mean the city should suffer.”

When Bethany looks up, all she can see are those eyes and that smirk. The eyes - are they _bright_ blue or _ice_ blue? Or maybe more like the ocean, and that’s what she concentrates on, because look, it can’t _really_ be anything terrible if she’s focused on eyes of all things when the Knight-Commander is throwing aside the bedsheets

and rucking up her shift, so close now that Bethany can feel the lyrium thrumming through her, and oh Maker no, this is it, please don’t, no, Maker save me -

No, her _eyes._ There are her eyes, and they’re bright ice ocean blue, right above Bethany’s own, and if she just concentrates on her eyes she’ll be fine, maybe she won’t notice the stretchingburning _OH MAKER IT HURTS! NO! NO! STOP!_ or remember a sensation unlike any other, the way her body pins itself to the bed and she couldn’t move or make sounds or breathe if she tried, because she can’t try, not really. Focus on her eyes and it will be fine. No pain or stretching and no wetness that feels like it has to be blood, must be blood, there’s only eyes.

They’re blurry now, she realizes, and so is everything. Wetness trailing down her cheeks and still there’s flashes of color, blonde hair glinting in the moonlight, flashes of white from her teeth, and the eyes are hard to see now but they’re still there and she _has_ to see them. As long as it’s just eyes, it’s -

“Isn’t it kind, what your sister does for you?”

She makes a noise then, choked and gut-wrenching, one she didn’t think she was capable of making (and that’s not like when she was with Isabela and making all sorts of good noises, no, these are unfamiliar but in a worse way, and now she hates herself for thinking of Isabela at a time like this).

“What would she think to see you like this, mage?”

She does not know how long it takes, does not want to know, and then the fingers are snapped out and the blood smeared on her cheeks, like how Marian has that smear across her nose except no, not like that at all. It’s an eternity until that happens and another until she can feel again and pulls herself out of bed. Where she’s going she isn’t sure, maybe to wash, if Meredith hadn’t locked the door again as she left.

It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t find out. Before she’s more than two steps from the bed she falls to her knees and her lips part, almost retching, almost gagging. But then they go closed again and she’s not really sure what’s happened or what will, even though she knows perfectly well.

Because after all, she’s able to think the first time, if it really happened would she honestly have been focusing on _eyes_?


	2. 2

Cullen has become quite practiced at not hearing anything that happens behind closed doors as he walks through the mage wing. There are noises coming from down the hall - have been since he walked in. If he heard them as an honorable man, he’d have to march inside and stop it. If he heard them as Kirkwall’s Knight-Captain, he’d have to take part. It’s better for everyone this way.

Blasted swing shift, he thinks instead. Not that he’d say so out loud, but it’s a headache, with the list of things to do getting even longer in mid-afternoon - ridiculous, really. Combine that with having spent the last two days out with a stomach virus, and there hasn’t even been time to check in with Meredith yet.

“Ser Torren!” he booms at a nearby recruit, approaching him with clipboard in hand.

The younger man turns, hair deftly flicked from his eyes. “Knight-Captain.”

“Haven’t signed off on your slot of the duty roster.” Cullen holds it out pointedly. “Why are you patrolling the mage wing now? You’re on midnight shift.”

“Not patrolling, Knight-Captain.” Torren takes the offered pen, scrawls a messy signature where it’s wanted. An acknowledgement he knows when his shift is, and that common sense would dictate he should be resting now. “Off to find the Hawke girl.”

“Third one I’ve seen on their way here,” Cullen mutters, flipping through the reports in his hands. There hasn’t been time to thoroughly look them over yet, just a scan and quick mental decryption of each code and symbol that covers up a - necessary - evil. “What’s this about? There’s an order, but no reason given.”

Torren sighs, with thinly-veiled impatience now, and shakes his head. “That damn battle with the Arishok, where Marian Hawke was named Champion?” he prompts, and Cullen nods. “Orsino got into a shouting match with the Knight-Commander. ‘Parently the Champion took his side, and his plans.”

“But the order on this form has nothing to do with…” Mages have been punished like this before, of course - it’s given him the practice at _not hearing_ \- but always for something they’ve done. Punishing one mage for her sister’s doings is another matter entirely. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he mutters under his breath, too low for anyone else to catch.

A shrug from the other man, somewhere between limp and unsure. “All’s I know is, Knight-Commander Meredith said she’s fair game for the evening.”

_Couldn’t you have lied?_

Cullen clears his throat too loudly. Questioning Meredith is far enough out of line. The most he can do now is limit the damage.

“You can’t all go in there at once,” he says flatly, voice stripped of emotion. “I’m staying it to one at a time.”

* * *

Behind closed doors, a woman bawls like the world is ending.  
  
He can walk away, free, while she remains trapped. It makes him grateful. It makes him feel ill.  
  
(And yet - _"I thought you’d want to help keep us from seeing another Kinloch,”_ Meredith says when he brings it up, and he has to admit that yes, he very much does.)

* * *

She sobs the whole time the first templar is “visiting.” Silently prays her way through the second one - the Canticle of Trials, mainly. By the third, there isn’t energy to do more than try to figure out how to breathe and swallow without her gag reflex flaring up. And with his hand pushing down on her head, at that - not making it any easier.

Somewhere between the third and fourth, she goes limp. When the fourth templar walks in, she simply positions Bethany’s limbs like a rag doll and growls something about being a _”good little whore.”_ It’s just sound by that point, barely even words, and none of it with any meaning.

It feels like a long pause, after that, once the fourth has finished and left. Enough for Hawke’s little sister to register blood drying on her thighs, stickiness splattered along her belly, a thousand aches that will definitely bruise by the morning.  
  
No thoughts, she chants to herself mindlessly as she tries to wipe up the mess with a clean corner of the bedsheet. No feelings. Just do. Easier that way. Strip off bedsheets. Replace. Strip off robes. Change into sleeping shift. If only she could bathe now instead of waiting until mor -  
  
The door swings open for a fifth time, and Bethany freezes.  
  
Get into bed again, she tries to tell herself. Spread your legs, go limp, hands above your head. But this is…she’s so tired she could cry. So tired and disgustingly filthy and she can still feel hands everywhere and…  
  
And that’s the Knight-Captain at the door, she realizes, seeing him deposit a basin of water on her desk.  
  
“Bethany,” he says - the first time in ages she hasn’t simply been referred to as “mage” or “robe,” but by her real name, her given name. He’s…he’s going to make the sound of that awful, too.  
  
“No,” she quavers, useless though she knows it is. “No, no, please.”  
  
Something goes sailing through the air, and she instinctively puts a hand up to catch it. A washcloth? She holds it out, shrinks back as if she can hide behind it.  
  
“Clean yourself,” he orders.  
  
He - he wants her clean first? Her mouth opens, as if disconnected from her mind. “Knight-Captain, it hurts, please don’t -“  
  
“Bethany,” he says again, and it makes her quiet down. “I don’t want anything from you.”  
  
She watches him go. He does not look back as he leaves, and locks her door from the outside.


	3. 3

_EXCERPT: COMMUNICATION LOG - GALLOWS MAIL ROOM._  
  
Input needed. Problematic content in letter from mage “B. Hawke,” addressed to “M. Hawke” in Hightown (the Champion of Kirkwall, and B’s sister). Writer has included numerous, graphic descriptions of injuries she has allegedly sustained, as well as direct quotes from other templars. She is clearly attempting to solicit help.  
  
The letter will be discarded unsent, as no amount of censoring would bring it within our standards, but I thought it important to bring this to the attention of higher-ups regardless.  
  
 _[A single line in the Knight-Commander’s handwriting follows. She has pressed down hard enough to raise marks on the other side of the paper.]_  
  
The situation will be handled.

* * *

_EXCERPT: MONITORING LOG - MAGE WING._  
  
SWING SHIFT: Lashes delivered to Senior Enchanter Hawke (over the clothes) shortly before shift change as ordered. Mage’s reaction indicates this punishment was sufficient.  
  
NIGHT SHIFT: Same mage as above made request for clean bedsheets and dressing gown, stating she was “bleeding rather a lot” and could not heal herself as her mana had been drained. Request approved. Denied elfroot potion due to “shortage.”  
  
Damage report follows.  
\- Set of bedsheets: Bloodstained, discarded as unsalvageable.  
\- Set of bedsheets: Bloodstained, delivered to laundry.  
\- Dressing gown (2x): Bloodstained, discarded as unsalvageable.  
  
_[Following this, written in a different hand:]_  
  
WASTEFUL! _[This is underlined no less than three times.]_ If the mage insists on showing such little respect for property, she and the mattress will be stripped each night before turning in, effective immediately.

* * *

_An anonymous note scrawled on the back of an order form:_  
  
To whom it may concern -  
  
Suspicions are arising regarding Senior Enchanter Bethany Hawke’s recent attachment to the Knight-Captain. The mage appears “clingy” and seems to relax in his presence. I am worried this may be an attempt to divide loyalties within the Order, and would like to bring it to the attention of other templars who have served longer than I.  
  
Yours faithfully.  
  
_[Underneath this, in a neatly-printed hand:]_  
  
This matter has been dealt with. Miss Hawke knows where the Order stands.  
  
\- Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford

* * *

_EXCERPT: MONITORING LOG - APPRENTICE WING._  
  
MORNING SHIFT: As usual, two senior enchanters arrived during morning chores to provide one-on-one instruction to specific children.  
  
Enchanter Anderson states R. Williams is becoming increasingly proficient with elemental magic. (Observe more closely in future.)  
  
Enchanter Hawke states C. Lamb is doing well. Failed to give a full report. The enchanter is demonstrating increased inability to concentrate in the presence of templars who also patrol the mage wing. Recommend she be removed from mentoring duties.

* * *

_From a note pinned to the board in the templars’ quarters:_  
  
Senior Enchanter Hawke - Two hours’ free play beginning at sundown, courtesy of Champion Hawke’s earlier display in the Gallows courtyard.  
Do not give the mage cause to wonder; this must be carried out when she is  unsuspecting.

* * *

_Yearly File Update - Hawke, Bethany:_  
  
Mana capacity has increased, and spells are becoming more proficient. Both are developing at the usual rate for a Circle mage.  
  
The changes in her medical condition noted at the last file update are becoming more pronounced. Appetite is reduced, and she is steadily losing weight. Pale color. Mage appears to be having frequent nightmares and having difficulty getting to sleep - watch for signs of possession. Concentration is suffering in the presence of most templars (although First Enchanter Orsino argues she does not display this issue in his private lessons with her). Permanent scarring from whip marks across back, no cause for concern.  
  
Nevertheless, she is now cooperating fully with all punishments. Responds by going limp if her arms or wrists are held, and assumes a submissive position upon any templar entering her room at night. Still cries if Champion Hawke is brought up during these sessions - the matter of whether to exploit this is dealt with on a case-by-case basis.  
  
_[Below this, someone has signed off on the report and added two words:]_  
  
WELL DONE.


	4. 4

_Bethy,_   
  
_It’s been a while since I had a letter from you. I hope you’re not upset with me for not writing more often, but there hasn’t been time. Everyone wants my attention lately. It’s ridiculous. I might be Champion, but the way they go on, you’d think I was the only one in the city able to get anything done._   
  
_I had to do a job for Meredith of all people a few days back, if you can believe it. She needed me to help track down some escaped blood mages (I’m sure you heard about the “incident” where so many got away?). With the way she went on, I’m glad you were always one for following rules. I know what I said when you first left for the Circle, but the more I hear about recent developments in the Gallows, the more I worry. You’re fortunate to have practice at staying unnoticed._   
  
_Anyway, I tried telling the Knight-Commander I wasn’t about to help her (the woman’s mad, you know that), and she ~~brought you up~~ said some upsetting things. Just…know I’m not in support of any of this like I used to be, all right? My hand was forced. I did my best to show her what I thought of it, letting one of the mages go free, and that made her good and cross. Hope she took it out on one of her templars._   
  
_But enough about the Circle. I’m sure you hear plenty about that without me rattling on._   
  
_Varric’s telling stories about our little band of misfits every day in the Hanged Man. Not without additions, of course. He makes me into some kind of legend that can singlehandedly take down anything. Sometimes I sit by and listen in, but Maker, it’s work to keep a straight face! Do you know he tried to tell a group of children we flew from Lothering to Kirkwall on a dragon? They believed him, too. I almost felt bad about it._   
  
_Oh! Remember how I told you once the estate was big enough to lose someone in it? Yesterday that almost happened. Someone snuck in, and I wouldn’t have known if not for Dog growling at the wardrobe. Found the culprit hiding inside. He looked younger even than you, so rather than fetch a guard I had the mabari chase him out. Of course, then he’d lost track of the way around and was panicked besides. You should have seen him run! It was brilliant. I needed the laugh._   
  
_Isabela says hello. She wants to know what you’ve been doing with yourself. Said she wants to come visit, but the templars aren’t letting family in, let alone friends. I know I’ve said it before, but I’m the bloody Champion, you’d think I’d be allowed to visit my own sister. Of course, everything happening with Meredith doesn’t help… Anyway, Bela says what she’s going to do is try to get in contact with one of her friends, have th_   
  
**[The sentence ends there; beneath this, a line has been drawn. The rest of the letter is written in a hasty scrawl, paper covered in dirt smudges.]**   
  
_Meant to finish this and send it off before what went down yesterday. I’M SO SORRY ABOUT EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED AT THE WOUNDED COAST. Please believe me, sister, I never wanted you dragged into my business as Champion. I didn’t know they’d gotten you involved until it was too late._   
  
_Wish we’d gotten a chance to talk properly before the templars had you taken back to the Circle. You looked ill, Bethy. Are you getting enough to eat, is something happening? Why haven’t you written? If you won’t write to me, write to Aveline. Or Varric. Or someone. We all want to know what’s happening. You saw Anders back there - he was livid from the second we heard about your being kidnapped. Told me we should break you out of the tower and be done with it._

_Don’t worry, don’t worry - we won’t actually do that. I know you told me from the start you were glad not to have to run anymore. But you know how Anders is. He’s assuming the worst. Still, just…let me know they’re treating you well, all right? I’d hate to be overdue bashing some templar heads together._  
  
_I know you’re going to say you can handle yourself out there, and I don’t have to protect you any longer. I just miss you. Most families with a relative in the Circle hardly remember them, don’t have a bond with them. We had nineteen years together. Sometimes when I’m at home, I still feel like you could walk through the door any moment, like you just went out to the market._  
  
_For what it’s worth, I think you’re severely brave. I don’t know if I could have managed it if I were a mage, leaving for the Circle after so long at home. It sounds lonely, even though you’re surrounded by so many others. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to be let in for a visit, or even tried just to catch a glimpse of you. Whenever I’m in the Gallows courtyard for work, I find myself checking all the windows, but all I ever see is a blurry figure or two passing by. Are you looking for me as well?_  
  
_I know things are coming to a head in the city. I just don’t know what I’m going to do when the powder keg finally erupts. There’s so much that…_

  
  
“Messere?”  
  
“Yes, Bodahn, what is it?”  
  
Marian glances up from her desk, and the letter that seems to have been only half-finished for ages now. Though the dwarf at her side says nothing, she’s acutely aware of the dark circles under her eyes, and the rat’s nest that is her hair. The Champion of Kirkwall manages to have enough time to be self-conscious, and not enough to fix anything about it.  
  
“A messenger dropped by. This is for you - he says it’s very important.” Bodahn holds it out, looking at her with concern. “If there’s been any trouble, messere…”  
  
“No, no.” She accepts the letter and shakes her head, leaning backwards to stretch. “I’m just…still thinking on how to get this letter to Bethany. Hard to get mail let into the Gallows these days.”  
  
He nods. “If there’s anything my boy and I can do…”  
  
“Don’t worry.” She manages a small smile. “You do more than enough.”  
  
Two minutes later she’s alone again. Marian flips the letter over in her hands, noting the return address with a silent groan. Mail from First Enchanter Orsino…whatever this is, it’s either a mess to be handled, or one brewing. Always a new fire to put out.  
  
Sighing, the Champion of Kirkwall picks up one of her daggers and tears the envelope open.


	5. 5

When the Chantry explodes, Bethany has her eyes closed and her face half-buried in a pillow. There’s no real reason for this punishment yet, but there will be soon.  
  
Marian was called to the Gallows. She knows that much, somewhere in her foggy mind. Another fight between the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander. Orsino called for his senior enchanters to follow him out. He trusted them to help, trusted her to help. Pleaded for her to back him up out there in the courtyard, but she didn’t get that far.  
  
 _“…head start on the pretty thing, then?”_  
  
They didn’t even take her robes off all the way. Just her smalls, rucked down and discarded. The robes are a mess now, bloodied and stained. So is her hair - stickiness drying in it - not that it matters. Anyone who sees will be someone who already knows.  
  
None of this really matters anyway. If she says it enough times it will be true. Repeat that. Repeat it. Hold it in your mind. Someone is smacking her thighs. Playfully light at first, then harder. A person is saying words she doesn’t want to hear, and so she doesn’t hear them. That’s all. Everything is fine. Everything is fine. Repeat that, keep repeating, think of the Chant or old memories or anything, just don’t let yourself -  
  
Something breaks through the room, a thunderous noise that defies description.  
  
With it comes a million things, all at once. Flashes of red pressing against her tightly-shut eyelids. Tiny gasps that are somehow deafening. Screams from below. A man going limp inside her.  
  
“Shi _ii_ t.”  
  
She remains facedown, motionless, pillow damp with sweat and heavy breaths. Don’t move. It will be all right. It will be over soon. Man pulling out, roughly. Scattering of voices, more than before.  
  
“The Champion’s still in the courtyard?” “Has been since before the explosion. Knight-Commander Meredith called for the Right - “ “Are you serious?” “Yes, they’re arguing right now, I just saw from up on the ramparts!” “Shit. _Shit._ We were supposed to be down there - “ “Just go! I’ll cover for you!” “But what about…”  
  
A break, then, an invisible snap in time. Someone yanks her robes down, refastens the buckles.  
  
“…Think we can make this work.” Voice breathless. “Could be a win-win situation.”  
  
Another voice, mocking. “Yeah? If you have such a brilliant plan, let’s hear it.”  
  
“Champion’s going to be dealt with, right? Keep the robe here. Bargaining chip of sorts.”  
  
“A hostage situation didn’t work the _first_ time - “  
  
“You got a better idea? Look at her, she won’t fight.”  
  
“No, I’ve got it. Keep the mage here, use her to draw Hawke into the tower. We corner her, out go the lights.”  
  
“I like it. And for this one?”  
  
“Does it matter? We got plenty to choose from.”  
  
She hears fading footsteps, voices. A door slams shut and locks.  
  
Bethany remains on the bed, facedown. Waiting. Breathing.

* * *

In the time between reading Orsino’s last letter and now, Marian Hawke thinks her world has been turned on its head at least twice. It might be going for a third time.  
  
When the Chantry exploded, all she could do was stare. First at the sky - red, now, and shaking down debris - then at the fires, and finally at Anders.  
  
Somewhere behind her, Sebastian mourns and shouts, crying for retribution. The man responsible throws those words right back at him, spitting at the idea of  _compromise_ or _fairness._ And no, normally Marian wouldn’t argue, but this is different. This is...  
  
Meredith slams one fist into the opposite palm. “As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle - “  
  
And Marian loses the rest of the sentence to the blood pounding in her ears.

Doors fly open, almost off their hinges, and a small flood of templars rushes out to assemble behind the Knight-Commander. Backup, she thinks. Invoking the Right - no no no, why didn’t she listen to Anders back at the Wounded Coast? She can keep Merrill close, and the healer can fend for himself, but -  
  
“Champion, you can’t let her kill us all!” Orsino pleads. “Help us stop this madness!”  
  
Meredith cuts him off. “And I demand you stand with us! Even you must see that this outrage cannot be tolerated.”  
  
The Champion looks from templar to mage, every line in her face drawn tight. “Before you ask me that,” she says, voice carefully even yet laced with threats, “do you want to tell me where Bethany is?”  
  
Orsino glances around, struck, as if he’s only just noticed her absence.  
  
“Even his own people do not stand with him!” Meredith shouts before he can answer. “Champion, help us restore order. This is going too far!”  
  
The shapes of words roll off Anders’s lips, soundless. _Get her out!_  
  
Spurred on, Marian shakes her head. “I’m not supporting either of you. Not until you can prove my sister is all right.”  
  
Meredith huffs out a breath, then turns to one of her men and sneers out an order. Back into the building he goes, and the Champion sees his posture stiff and jerky, like a man with a plan that fell flat before it ever started.

* * *

Bethany feels herself startle. Someone is pulling her up from the bed. Hands clamp down around her wrists, securing them.  
  
“Lucky mage bitch.”  
  
A sloppy mana drain forces the air from her lungs in a long groan. The templar leans forward, flash of bright red hair. It’s unkempt, too. Ends up in her mouth, taste of salt and sweat, texture of a million spiders trying to eat her up from the inside out.  
  
“Ugh - made a mess of you, didn’t they. Disgusting. Still, least it tells the Champion who owns you - “  
  
The Champion, he said. That’s - that’s _Marian._ No, please, she doesn’t want to see Marian. Anyone but her. Heard that name too many times, whispered in one ear, or maybe shouted tauntingly, always tauntingly, and through the pain and tears and blood. _Doing it because of your sister._ It’s all because of Marian and Maker, please, don’t make me…  
  
His hands clamp down again, grip harder, bruising. The pads of his fingers still sticky. Rough shove to her back.  
  
“She’ll have a hard time turning against us when she sees what we’ve got.”  
  
Eyes on the horizon on the way out to the courtyard. She feels the stairs more than sees them, rough little thumps to her heels, shooting pains with each step. First Enchanter Orsino standing upright. Senior enchanters lined up behind him. There’s fire. There’s fire everywhere.  
  
And - no, she doesn’t see Meredith or the templars. She _does not_ see them. Just focus on the First Enchanter, there he is, with that familiar look that mixes pity and the utmost sympathy. (He’s been giving it to her for years now, she thinks.) Just focus on him.  
  
She keeps her eyes there, on his face. Don’t look away, don’t you dare. Don’t see Anders look up and try desperately to meet her eyes. If she just focuses on Orsino, she won’t notice the shock spreading across Aveline’s face, or the way even Fenris’s expression twists with horror, or how Varric and Isabela look ready to murder the entirety of the Templar Order and be done with it. But none of it can keep her from hearing  
  
“Sweet Maker, _LET HER GO!”_  
  
that shrill scream, unmistakeable. It is the voice of a woman who once reassured her baby sister there are no such things as monsters.


	6. +1

****The water laps hot against Anders’s wrists, or maybe it’s just hot in comparison to the limp, clammy woman in his arms. He’s washed people like this many times before, scrubbed soap into their hair as he does to her now, but this time is different. She’s an apostate turned Circle mage turned apostate again, and his friend’s little sister. And she looks ~~half-Tranquil~~ terrible, has ever since he led her out of there and away from Kirkwall at Hawke’s command.  
  
There’s a mess in her hair. He can focus on that much without getting too angry. Maybe he’s more Justice than man now, maybe he will always be, and that means he has to tread carefully lest the spirit intrude when he needs to remain a tender healer. Editing his own thoughts has become a necessity.  
  
It was easier to shake off the lingering presence earlier. Marian pointed them in a direction and told them to run, that she’d be along as soon as she could - the fighting buying them time to get to the secluded cottage where they now sit. Bethany tried to protest once they got in the door ( _“Really, I’m fine, you don’t need to…”_ ), but her voice was weak and it broke the moment he gave her a pointed look.  
  
Now she seems to have lost the ability to argue. There’s silence apart from the splashing of the water, and he focuses on what he needs to do to heal - and stay Anders. ~~They came in her hair.~~ There’s a mess in her hair and stains on the shoulders of her robes. And while a quick wash isn’t nearly enough to fix - everything - she’ll be more comfortable once that stench is out.  
  
“Let me wring this out and wrap it with a towel. I’d like to heal your wounds now, if you could.”  
  
There’s a long pause. She doesn’t seem to have heard, but he knows better than to repeat himself, or worse, move before getting an answer. ~~This woman has been violated in so many ways, and~~ he isn’t about to make her feel violated again.  
  
Her lips part shakily. “Do you need…clothes off?”  
  
“Yes. I have to see it to take care of it, but you can wear something else once I’m done.” Once he’s eased her upright again, he goes for his bag. “Keep your smalls and breastband on.”  
  
“I, um.”  
  
He’s halfway through finding his spare set of clothes when he realizes she hasn’t moved.  
  
“Bethany,” he says, a bit firmer now, “I need you to strip.”  
  
She looks at him, and something seems to click. “Oh, right, sorry.” And she does, her fingers fumbling at the clasps to undo them. He remembers the robes of a Circle mage - two snaps here, another four there, untie the back and you’re through. She manages three before she has to stop and breathe. He says nothing, just waits as if he has all the time in the world. The damp towel makes its way from her hair to her lap for modesty, and her gaze seems to dare him to ask what happened to her smalls.  
  
“I’m going to sit behind you again now,” he says instead. “Let’s start from the top, hm? Lift your neck…”  
  
Every muscle in her body is taut, eyes fixed on him, but she begins to relax with his steady narration of each action. Still she is silent, until he’s nearly half done.  
  
“Aren’t you…going to ask me what happened? I mean, the rest of the story here?”  
  
He smooths palms over her arms, keeping his fingers from reaching out and tracing the raised white scars on her back. “I thought if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me. If you don’t, I already know too much.”  
  
“Well. Yes.” She inhales, and when she looks at him again her eyes are clear, if troubled. “You’ll, um…make sure they haven’t given me any diseases, right?”  
  
“I’ve checked. There’s nothing to worry about.” Anders holds out a set of robes, black and at least reasonably clean. ~~“The lyrium usually prevents that, anyway.”~~  
  
She blows a strand of hair out of her eyes, tugging on the clothes, and thanks him. The material would have been baggy anyway - she’s shorter than he is, and with more curves - but the weight she’s lost means she’s all but swimming in it. Not that she seems to notice or care. “That’s…good,” she says finally, voice tight. There are words locked behind her lips, he knows it.

“For what it’s worth,” Anders hears himself say, “if you want to tell me, I won’t repeat it. Not to your sister, not to anyone.”  
  
“You won’t?”  
  
“No, little Hawke, not unless you want me to.” He stands, adjusting the staves where they lean against the wall. “It’s your story to tell, not mine.”  
  
And the story is there behind Bethany’s eyes, names and faces and horrors all straining to get out. But she doesn’t know how to begin, or she can’t make the words - he can see that, too. It reminds him of ~~the nights he spent holding a sobbing Karl close, promising it would be all right when they both knew better~~ …it reminds him of…well, of something, but that isn’t important right now.  
  
“I - “  
  
Hawke’s younger sister runs her fingers through her wet hair, struggling. She wants to tell him badly, it’s written in every line of her body, and she’s so close. He can almost see the words beating at the inside of her head, fighting for a chance to be spoken…  
  
“They told me…”  
  
_Ka-chunk!_ as the door swings open, nearly hard enough to be knocked off its hinges. Anders’s head whips up at the sound, and by that time Marian - grimy and covered in blood - is already halfway in the door.  
  
“Bethy?”  
  
Her voice is fraught with pain and anger, her eyes trained on the woman currently trying to press herself into the corner and disappear. Swallowing the response he’d really _like_ to deliver, Anders gives the older Hawke a pointed little nudge that borders on a shove.  
  
“Go sit watch outside,” he snaps.  
  
Marian looks positively stunned. “I don’t think that’s - “  
  
“It’s not a suggestion, Hawke. Get _out._ We need time.”  
  
The Champion sidesteps and darts past him, moving to cup her sister’s face. Bethany tries to squirm further into the corner, her eyes slammed shut and hands weakly flailing as if trying to bat Marian away - a gesture that seems to be lost on her.  
  
“Bethy.” She sounds about to cry. “I swear to you, I did not know.”  
  
Anders hisses a breath out through his teeth. _“Hawke…”_  
  
The expression on her face is indescribable, though her hands withdraw. It takes a small eternity, but finally there’s a muttered, “Right,” and she walks out the door.  
  
Bethany stares into space, the shades down over her eyes again.  
  
Well. Marian’s all right, and Kirkwall must be dealt with if she’s back - all good news - but - but… _Well._  
  
Anders breathes out, tries to shake off his tension, and starts to tidy the room. After a moment, there’s a soft inhale, and Bethany’s voice.  
  
“Not now. But…I might want to, another day.”  
  
“That’s all right. Whenever you’re ready.”  
  
She looks so much younger with his robes wrapped around her. How old is she now? Twenty-six, or is it twenty-seven? Anders sees her chest heave with a choked-back sob, her mouth set in a straight line, and remembers then that she is still a Hawke. For all that has ~~been done to her~~ happened, she carries a stubbornness that serves her as much as it hurts.  
  
“Um,” she says. “What…happens now?”  
  
The stubbornness in her blood is the reason she’s even alive right now, ~~after everything~~ , he knows that much.  
  
“We’re setting up camp here tonight to get some rest. It’s far enough out that we should be safe. Your sister will keep the outside watch - and no, you’re _not_ going to take a shift.”  
  
Her fingers curl in black fabric, hugging herself. “What about you?”  
  
“Tell me what will make you most comfortable.”

There’s a long pause as she studies him, trying to figure out what ~~he wants her~~ to say, and then gives up. “I don’t want Marian in here,” she answers. “But I don’t want to be alone, either.”  
  
He can tell her breathing has steadied a little, at least. “Tell you what. I’m going to set up my bedroll near yours. Anything that gets past your sister will have to go through me and Justice before it lays a hand on you.”  
  
She looks lost, as if her words have been stolen.  
  
“If you need me, I can be up in under a minute,” he adds. “Or if my sitting awake would have you more comfortable…”  
  
“No. No, that’s fine. You should rest, too.” Bethany shakes her head and glances at the door. “But she - “  
  
“Will be fine. A rejuvenation spell in the morning should take care of it. Maker knows she’s stayed up all night before.”  
  
They bunk down on the thin floor in silence, each with a staff within arm’s reach. She has the blankets pulled up to her chin, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the door. Just when he’s sure she’s drifting off, a soft voice pipes up.  
  
“Anders?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I can’t sleep. Could you…the door?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
There isn’t much furniture here, but the table works well enough for blocking a door. “Better?”  
  
“Yes.” Bethany nods, half-lidded eyes shutting again. “Thank you.”  
  
He lies back down on his bedroll, and this time she shifts close, so he puts an arm around her and it feels exactly right. A sharp inhale through her teeth.  
  
“You said you…” A pause, and this time he doesn’t fill in the words for her, so she starts again. “Does it go away? Do you know?”  
  
_Justice, please, if you see this you’ll do much more harm than good._  
  
“It stops hurting as badly.” He nods. “Not quickly. Not easily. But it will, I promise you that.”  
  
She breathes out, long and shaky, her fingers curling in his shirt. “I’m kind of sorry you know the answer.”  
  
“Oh, Bethany.”  
  
Marian is still sitting outside the door - he can almost _feel_ her presence, no longer invasive but definitely not passive. No doubt she’s ready and waiting to confront another problem. He will talk to her when Bethany’s ready to let go for a bit, get the details on what happened inside the city walls and tell her how to help her sister. But right now, this is exactly where he needs to stay.  
  
He cannot fix what’s happened, or the actions he did or didn’t take, no matter what. But Anders knows as well as anyone that things don’t often happen in the way you’d expect. Sometimes getting better looks like this, sometimes _helping_ looks like this, holding your friend’s younger sister as she dozes and rubbing her back to remind her how to breathe. And this…that he can do. That he can do a million times over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and sticking with me through this. You guys are great. :)


End file.
